Read Online PETALS AND THORNS by JENNIFER PARIS - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: JENNIFER PARIS
Tags: BDSM
Ads: Link
hurt even to open her eyelids. She felt pummeled and wrung dry, yet curiously replete. The way the Beast's mouth had moved on her, how her body had stretched so tightly, so immobilized, and then the crashing release of that massive tension—the thought sent shimmers of delight through her. She had exploded clear through her skin somehow and had become something made of pure light and pleasure for a few moments.
But now she had tumbled into flesh again, battered flesh that badly needed tending, as the Beast had predicted. Not that it took much foresight, given what he'd put her through.
With a groan, Amarantha dragged herself out of the cozy bed. A storm had come in, and snow fell in drowsy flakes outside, muffling the world. The fire in her bedroom hearth crackled in comfort, and a hot toddy wafted whiskey steam from her bedside table. She cradled the mug in her hands, grateful for the warmth and the soothing ease of the honeyed alcohol through her bloodstream. Naked, her ebony hair tumbling around her, Amarantha wandered to the washroom.
Their invisible helpers had cleared away last night's wreckage and restored the doors. The vanity chair perched in front of the mirror, demure and sweet with its gold curlicues. The brass key even sat in the lock again, a promise of something.
In his arrogant way, the Beast might say that she had only one choice, but that wasn't the case at all. Amarantha began to understand her husband's games.
She eased into the steaming tub, hissing at the heat, the sting of the water on her tender backside. Amarantha hadn't looked in the mirror to see how he'd marked her now. She didn't need to.
The afternoon sky deepened to dusk while she soaked and dozed, daydreaming about nothing in particular.
52
When she thought sunset might be nearing, Amarantha washed her hair. She stepped out of the tub, dried herself with the fluffy, warmed towels, and combed out her long hair. Her shoulder muscles creaked and protested, and Amarantha found herself smiling in dreamy satisfaction in the mirror.
The short, transparent robe and nothing else hung on the hook. She slipped it on and padded through the quiet house, looking for the Beast.
He sat in the great chair in the atrium, where he'd scrutinized her on their wedding day. His head leaning on a knuckled paw, he seemed to be absorbed in a leather-bound tome propped on his knee, so he didn't hear her enter the room. Snow flurried outside the glass. The mounds and towers of red roses steamed in vibrant contrast. A padded table sat in the center of the room, draped in white cloths and scattered with rose petals. A copper brazier nearby glowed, and the room smelled of rosemary.
“I didn't know you read,” she said.
His cowled head lifted, and the Beast set his book aside.
“You thought perhaps I spent all my time prowling the gardens and devising ways to torment beautiful young women?”
“Eating babies, marauding the countryside?” she suggested, and he chuckled, coming to her and taking both of her hands in his. His great paws dwarfed her slim white hands, and he bent his head over them, kissing the skin, then turning them over to place soft kisses in the nest of her palms. The kisses shivered through her.
“Are you well, my bride?” the Beast asked, gruff voice concerned. Amarantha wanted to kiss his hands in return to reassure him.
“I am well, my lord. Sore, yes, but I feel…wonderful, actually.”
“Well, let's see what we can do about the soreness, then.”
He led her to the table and helped her shrug out of her robe. Uncertain what to do, Amarantha sat on the padded edge. The Beast coaxed her into lying facedown and gently moved her still-damp hair so it trailed over the edge of the table.
53
She gasped at the sensation of hot oil on her back. Then she subsided with a pleased groan. The Beast rubbed the oil into her skin, kneading the muscles into elasticity. He seemed to know where she hurt most, working through her shoulders to
But now she had tumbled into flesh again, battered flesh that badly needed tending, as the Beast had predicted. Not that it took much foresight, given what he'd put her through.
With a groan, Amarantha dragged herself out of the cozy bed. A storm had come in, and snow fell in drowsy flakes outside, muffling the world. The fire in her bedroom hearth crackled in comfort, and a hot toddy wafted whiskey steam from her bedside table. She cradled the mug in her hands, grateful for the warmth and the soothing ease of the honeyed alcohol through her bloodstream. Naked, her ebony hair tumbling around her, Amarantha wandered to the washroom.
Their invisible helpers had cleared away last night's wreckage and restored the doors. The vanity chair perched in front of the mirror, demure and sweet with its gold curlicues. The brass key even sat in the lock again, a promise of something.
In his arrogant way, the Beast might say that she had only one choice, but that wasn't the case at all. Amarantha began to understand her husband's games.
She eased into the steaming tub, hissing at the heat, the sting of the water on her tender backside. Amarantha hadn't looked in the mirror to see how he'd marked her now. She didn't need to.
The afternoon sky deepened to dusk while she soaked and dozed, daydreaming about nothing in particular.
52
When she thought sunset might be nearing, Amarantha washed her hair. She stepped out of the tub, dried herself with the fluffy, warmed towels, and combed out her long hair. Her shoulder muscles creaked and protested, and Amarantha found herself smiling in dreamy satisfaction in the mirror.
The short, transparent robe and nothing else hung on the hook. She slipped it on and padded through the quiet house, looking for the Beast.
He sat in the great chair in the atrium, where he'd scrutinized her on their wedding day. His head leaning on a knuckled paw, he seemed to be absorbed in a leather-bound tome propped on his knee, so he didn't hear her enter the room. Snow flurried outside the glass. The mounds and towers of red roses steamed in vibrant contrast. A padded table sat in the center of the room, draped in white cloths and scattered with rose petals. A copper brazier nearby glowed, and the room smelled of rosemary.
“I didn't know you read,” she said.
His cowled head lifted, and the Beast set his book aside.
“You thought perhaps I spent all my time prowling the gardens and devising ways to torment beautiful young women?”
“Eating babies, marauding the countryside?” she suggested, and he chuckled, coming to her and taking both of her hands in his. His great paws dwarfed her slim white hands, and he bent his head over them, kissing the skin, then turning them over to place soft kisses in the nest of her palms. The kisses shivered through her.
“Are you well, my bride?” the Beast asked, gruff voice concerned. Amarantha wanted to kiss his hands in return to reassure him.
“I am well, my lord. Sore, yes, but I feel…wonderful, actually.”
“Well, let's see what we can do about the soreness, then.”
He led her to the table and helped her shrug out of her robe. Uncertain what to do, Amarantha sat on the padded edge. The Beast coaxed her into lying facedown and gently moved her still-damp hair so it trailed over the edge of the table.
53
She gasped at the sensation of hot oil on her back. Then she subsided with a pleased groan. The Beast rubbed the oil into her skin, kneading the muscles into elasticity. He seemed to know where she hurt most, working through her shoulders to
Similar Books
